


Fields of War

by CapnShellhead



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Avengers Vol. 3 (1998), Blood and Violence, Camelot, Corporal Punishment, Injury, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of past Tony/Tiberius, Pining, Swordfighting, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 04:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: Sir Steven Rogers discovers a nobleman spying on his training sessions behind the castle. Rather than send him away, Sir Rogers decides to train him. As they grow closer, the war with Cenred intensifies. Rogers finds himself fighting a war with brand new purpose.





	Fields of War

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during the Avengers vol 3 storyline where the Avengers end up in medieval times. 
> 
> I was in the midst of writing a fic I actually set out to write and this happened. It's way longer than I intended as the plot just decided to write itself. So, yeah, I mixed in some 616 history and probably twisted some actual history of the time period. Cenred exists mainly because I was rewatching Merlin when the original idea for this story happened. 
> 
> I hope everyone likes it!
> 
> Drop me a line and let me know what you think!

Small beads of sweat dripped down Steven Rogers’ chest, cutting through the soft, downy trail of hair on his lower stomach.

Tony followed their descent, his mouth dry as they slipped beneath the tie of his breeches. Yeoman America worked out in the backfield, behind the burned down husk of the North Tower. The area was usually deserted during the day; the rest of the knights commandeering the field before the main bailey. Tony used to think he chose this spot to avoid his men. Now, he knew the general chose this spot because he didn’t have to hold back.

In all his time in the castle, Tony had never seen anyone move quite like Rogers.

It wasn’t sword fighting as much as it was ballet with weaponry. Rogers shielded more than he struck. More inclined to take a few blows before ending a skirmish with a quick jab to the opponent’s chest. Usually soft enough that they had time to surrender. Deadly if they were the kind of man that mistook that mercy for weakness. Rogers was, first and foremost, an honorable knight.

When he’d arrived in Camelot, the people were in awe of him. The first knight of impure blood. Sir Joseph Rogers was one of the knights that died in the war with Cenred’s kingdom. Sarah Rogers, a handmaiden in a small neighboring village, had the child in dead of night and kept him hidden most of his life. Upon his father’s passing, one of the castle pages rode out to deliver the news. At sixteen years old, Rogers was taken from his mother and trained to be a knight.

When Tony first met him, he was lying in the dirt and clutching the bloody mess he’d made out of his forearm. Tiberius Stone was laughing at him, leaning against the hay cart as Tony tried to gather the broken pieces of his invention. A strong hand reached down in offering as Tony stared up at the clearest blue eyes he’d ever seen in his life. A bright dazzling smile beamed down at him as the blond carefully pulled him up.

“Are you alright?” Rogers asked and the concern sounded genuine. A baffling detail considering, covered in dirt, blood, and hay, Tony looked the furthest thing from nobility. Rogers dusted him off, yanking a red handkerchief from his pocket and wrapping it around the wound on Tony’s arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He steered Tony away with a soft hand on his back. His words were biting, “I’ll have word with Fury about this, Stone. There’s more to being a knight than simply keeping up appearances.”

Rogers brought Tony to the small medicine room in the castle where he patched Tony up on his own. Tony watched curiously, in awe of the fact that Rogers took time out of his busy schedule of training and strategy meetings to bandage a complete stranger. Rogers cleaned his wound, blowing on him gently as the antiseptic burned painfully. His lips were plush, pink and slightly bowed. Heart beating fast in his chest, Tony chose to focus on the careful hands sewing up the gash on his arm.

“Did he do this to you?” Rogers asked, his face stern and unwavering. He held Tony’s wrist gently, holding it up for better light. “He’s a nuisance,” he tutted.

“That may be true,” Tony replied quietly, stealing a glance before returning to his arm. “But, no. I did this.”

Clean and in brighter light, Tony’s arm looked a hell of a lot worse than he thought. A deep slash travelling from the base of his wrist and halfway up his forearm. It was a wonder he hadn’t struck bone. Jarvis would be displeased; it would definitely scar.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Rogers asked, looking to him in concern.

There was a softness in his eyes that compelled Tony to speak. “I was trying to create a crossbow. Well, a more efficient one.” He cleared his throat. “To make my father proud. As if that were ever possible.”

Rogers held his gaze for a moment, fingers gently smoothing over the stitches. It cast a strange sensation over Tony’s skin that brought a flush to his face and left him tongue tied. “Yes, I understand that,” Rogers murmured, returning to his work.

“It’s pointless. He’s dead now, I know that,” Tony admitted, avoiding Rogers concern and instead looking to the nearby window. “I always thought that someday I’d stop trying. But then I’m right back here trying to impress him. Even now.”

“Maybe you’re not trying to impress him,” Rogers replied, setting Tony’s arm down on the table. “Maybe you’re trying to prove you’re better than him.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

Rogers shrugged, cleaning up the bloodied rags and excess thread. “Maybe. I chose to come here to protect the people. My father was born into a noble family and wasted his years in the taverns. At the very least, I owe it to the people to try to make up for the work my father neglected.”

Tony’s chest tightened, his voice rough. “That makes sense. You’re a good man.”

Smiling, Rogers touched the line of stitches “Thank you…” he trailed off and Tony was honestly a bit shocked to meet someone who didn’t know who he was.

“Anthony Stark,” he greeted, holding out his hand. “They call me Tony.”

Afterwards, Tony had stashed Rogers’ handkerchief in a box beneath his bed and vowed to take Rogers’ advice. He shouldn’t push himself to make his father proud; he should push himself to be better than his father. A constant quest to be something greater than anyone had ever seen. An endless battle but a worthy one. A new purpose.

Now, he’d taken a break from his work to lean over on a bale of hay and watch as Rogers leapt into a spin, slashing the top off one of his practice posts. Abs contracting, the strong muscles of his thighs tensing in his thin breeches. Powerful and strong, he’d have no trouble at all holding Tony in place should he like to. His broad hands on Tony’s waist as he pressed him against a wall and—

“I can see you, you know?”

Tony stiffened, watching as Rogers set his sword down. Tony’s heart skipped a beat, his mouth falling open as Rogers came closer, hands on his hips.  He didn’t seem angry. Quite the opposite as he came to a stop in front of Tony’s hiding spot, a charming smile spread across his face. The sun had opened up above them, casting a soft halo around Rogers’ blond head. Almost as though he really had come down from the heavens to destroy Tony’s concentration.

“What are you doing here?”

Tony stumbled over a response that didn’t paint him as a stalker. “I, uh, well,” he stood carefully, offering a nervous smile, “I’ve asked around and they say you’re the best.”

Rogers shook his head, a bashful smile on his face. “That’s not true. I’m nothing without my men.” He tapped his foot a few times, biting down on his lip. Then he looked to Tony in question. “Is that it, then? You came out here to watch me?”

Tony’s face burned. Tongue tied and rather embarrassed, “Well, not exactly,” he began.

“Because you don’t have to watch,” Rogers said plainly, a challenge in his gaze. “I can teach you.”

It took a moment for the meaning to set in. When it did, Tony shook his head vehemently, resisting the invitation. “Oh, no, no, I couldn’t. Jarvis would never—”

“I’m not scared of Jarvis,” Rogers replied plainly.

 _That makes one of us, Tony mused._ “I’m not a knight.”

Even so, he let Rogers – _Steve_ – guide him out onto the field. His hands were strong and so much larger than Tony’s, even as they were similar in height. Steve was so much broader, his limbs so much longer and muscular. He grabbed a wooden sword and handed it to Tony with an encouraging smile. Kind soul that he was, he didn’t even laugh when Tony nearly dropped the damn thing immediately.

He waited as Tony did his best, his arms straining with the weight of it. He looked to Steve helplessly, his flush darkening. Steve cursed and fetched another one, handing it over. And another still before Tony was able to hold it aloft. Neither of these were the ones Steve so lovingly gripped for practice. Finally, Steve came to stand behind Tony, his arms coming into view as he reached over to adjust Tony’s grip on the handle.

His breath was warm, leaving a brushfire along Tony’s skin as he murmured, “There. That should do it. My sword’s too heavy for you to handle and Sam’s is a bit too big. This is Tiberius’,” he added with a soft laugh.

He moved to stand in front of Tony, nodding at him once. “I’m not a knight. I have no need to fight,” Tony reasoned.

“I don’t care,” Steve replied solidly. “You should know how to defend yourself. Now,” he gestured to himself with a brazen grin, “Come and get me.”

+

Sweat dripped into Tony’s eyes, muscles straining as he held his practice sword high above his head. They’d been at this for half an hour and, even with months of practice, Tony found his strength waning. And Steve knew it.

“You fancy yourself a knight?” Steve jeered, eyes alit with humor. “Prove it!”

“I never said that,” Tony spat, the loud clunk of the practice swords sounding over his words as Steve backed him against the castle wall.

Even tense with the thrill of the fight, Steve’s broad shape looming over him in advance, Tony was relaxed. Steve would never hurt him. He’d goad Tony until his pride forced his hand, but he’d never truly hurt Tony.

At least, not with a sword.

“Little rich boy, son of a nobleman,” Steve mused, leaning in closer.

Thighs intertwined, breath mingled as Tony panted and tried to ignore the heat coiling in his center. Steve’s warmth seeped into him, the heady scent of his skin and leather making it hard to concentrate. So much easier to give in and imagine what it’d feel like to have Steve pressed against him under different circumstances.

“I’m surprised you know which end to hold,” Steve teased, lips full and pink.

Grimacing, Tony shoved forward, rolling his hips into Steve’s and shoving him back a few steps. Ill advised, the dull edge of Steve’s practice sword glancing off his neck, but the move surprised Steve enough that he veered back in shock. Once adjusted, his eyes burned in anger.

Voice stern, “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I got space, didn’t I?”

“And if this had been a real sword and I a real opponent, you would be dead right now,” he spat, jutting a finger into Tony’s face.

Warming at the affection he heard there, Tony readjusted his grip on his sword with a grin. “So, you’re saying you’re not much of a challenge.”

Steve gaped at him, silent for a moment before a helpless smile spread over his face. “Do your worst, rich boy.”

A clash of swords, a tightness in Tony’s body as Steve kept him on the defensive, giving no quarter. Steve could do this all day; he practiced endlessly, morning and night, rain or shine. Winter days spent huddled beneath blankets and Tony would look out of window and see Steve practicing parries in the snow. Tony was just beginning and sure he’d improved, but there was no winning against the sheer power and strength in Steve’s arms.

Before long, Tony’s back slammed against the castle wall again, his head falling back with a sigh. Steve batted the sword out of his hand, the flat of his own pressed against Tony’s shoulder. The dull edge a hair’s breadth from his throat.

Steve’s eyes softened, “Never offer up your neck to an opponent.”

This close, Tony could make out every line of color in his eyes. Count every lengthy blond lash, eyes falling to his soft pink lips as his tongue ran over them. Steve was too beautiful to be a knight; too handsome to spend his days covered head to toe in armor. Licking his lips, Tony breathed out, watching curiously as Steve followed the motion, eyes lidded. His sword fell, the small distance between them lessening with every breath. Tony’s heart rate ticked up as he waited.

“We should get ready for tonight’s feast,” Steve rasped, stepping back.

+

“This is the chest piece,” Steve instructed. He glanced upward and sighed at Tony’s pointed stare. “Of course, you know that. You’re the one that wanted the lesson, you know.”

“I know, I know. Go on, I’ll be good,” he replied, tongue in cheek.

Steve’s eyes lit up as he murmured, “I somehow doubt that.”

He planted his hands solidly on Tony’s waist. Though his touch was impossible to feel through the armor, it brought a flush to Tony’s cheeks. They were playing around in the armory. At least, Tony was playing. Steve had insisted on taking Tony’s offer of a teaching opportunity seriously. For Tony, it was simple fun pretending he was suiting up for a real battle. Like he’d ever really get the chance. He was hopelessly poised to take over his father’s blacksmith business.

“The gorget protects your neck,” Steve said, holding up the piece.

“So, you scolded me the other day for nothing?”

“It has a purpose, yes, but all armor is fallible. You know that,” Steve chided. “You protect your neck because it’s your best chance at survival.” His voice lowered, eyes soft as he laid his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “And because I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

Tony returned his smile, gazing at Steve through his lashes. The blond’s eyes widened before he cleared his throat and returned to the table. “You know what the gauntlets are for.” He shot Tony a firm look, “And you know not to toss one at another knight’s foot.”

“Because he’d be forced to dance with me,” Tony replied sternly, earning a playful cuff to the chin.

“Because you’d be challenging him to a duel.” He set the gauntlet down and set about removing Tony’s armor. With a shake of his head, he whispered fondly, “You never met a challenge you didn’t like, huh?”

“Ask me in ten years,” Tony replied with a wink.

One beautiful lip caught between his teeth as Steve bit down a laugh. When he pulled the chest piece over Tony’s head, he stumbled forward a little. Steve set it aside, steadying Tony, his hands strong and sure. Warming, Tony held still, breath catching as Steve’s eyes met his. Absently, Steve stroked Tony’s hip reassuringly, burning through the thin cloth of Tony’s shirt.

“So, I guess you’re an expert now.”

Tony’s mouth was dry. “Don’t think so.”

“You don’t?” Steve teased, the corner of his mouth turning up. “You lead me to believe you knew everything.”

“I’ve still got a lot to learn.” Steve stepped back, leaving Tony a bit colder.

He watched as Steve put the rest of the armor away, his hands moving methodically. It was then that Tony noticed the slight shadows beneath Steve’s eyes. He’d heard word around the castle that dark days were to come. The sort that no one had seen since the years before Tony was born. A few nights of unanswered questions and Jarvis hurrying to change the subject.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly. Steve stiffened, his hand pausing on the cabinet door. “You seem worried.”

Steve tried for a smile, holding up a helmet. “About creating a monster? Every day of my life,” he said, tossing a smile over his shoulder.

“Shut it, you,” Tony said with a soft laugh. Sobering, “About Cenred.”

Steve set the gauntlets in their place and turned around slowly. Crossing his arms, biceps tensing delightfully as he leaned back against the table. “Why would you ask that?”

“I’ve heard rumblings through the castle. Rumors that he wants to start a war.”

Steve lowered his head. “We’re always at war, Tony.”

“Okay.” Tony steeled himself and moved in closer. “He means to launch an attack.”

“Who told you that?” Steve asked, meeting his gaze. His tone was severe, but his eyes –

“It’s not the first you’re hearing of this.” Steve paused. Then he nodded once. “Were you going to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Steve said, pacing a few steps.

The easy tone left Tony rather annoyed. “I live here, too.”

“Cenred would never launch an attack on Camelot. Not directly. He has a formidable army, but we have the means to protect ourselves for a year, maybe even two, behind these walls.”

“So, he’d go after someone else. Another kingdom?” Steve hesitated and Tony found himself reaching out. “Steve, talk to me.”

His hand landed on Steve’s arm, earning soft eyes and an even softer tone. While Tony was still annoyed at being placated, it was such an unexpected kindness. “We’ve heard rumors about new weapons. Weapons that he didn’t have the first time around. We’ve sent men to try to get more information, but every time we’ve tried, Cenred’s found them out.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Steve chewed on his lip, his gaze dropping to Tony’s hand on his arm. “We’re starting to think he’s got a man inside the castle.” Steve covered Tony’s hand with his own, his eyes bright blue and firm. “Be careful who you trust.”

+

Jarvis was going to kill him.

Six months of training and it was time for Tony to progress to using real swords. Granted, that didn’t necessarily mean they should practice using his father’s swords. But they were right there and why should Tony practice with subpar equipment? Besides, Steve was careful.

“It’s more of a dance,” Steve instructed above the clink of their swords. “There’s a rhythm to it – that’s it!” he cheered. “You sort of get a feel for how your partner will move next and that guides you. It’s not just mindless swinging.”

“You’re right. Your job is much harder than I thought it was,” Tony panted, following Steve’s careful motions. “I thought you were just here to look pretty.”

Steve laughed, carefully working through the board space in the field. He was taking it easy on Tony, letting him get a feel for what it felt like to swing a real blade, rather than dull wood or tin. It was lighter in some ways, easier slices through the air. It had the added effect of making Tony more cautious. More aware that one wrong move could seriously injure one of them. It kept Tony alert.

“When I was four years old, my mother showed me one of my father’s swords. Much too heavy for me to hold.”

“Seeing as you were a third of the size you are now, I should hope you didn’t attempt it,” Tony replied, following the simple rhythm.

_Clink, clink, clink, step. Clink, clink, clink, step._

“I didn’t,” Steve said, sticking his tongue out in a rare fit of immaturity. Tony laughed, following the pattern and walking Steve backwards. “She wrapped it in cloth and hid it behind a painting. But she showed it to me once. Just so I’d know my father had died a hero.” _Clink, clink, clink, step._ “Even if he didn’t live like one.”

Tony hummed, letting Steve walk him backwards. _Clink, clink, clink, step._ “How’d he die?”

“You heard the stories.”

 _Clink, clink, clink, step._ “I know but, I don’t know the details.”

“You know what I know,” Steve said, pausing and running a hand over his hair. “He took down twelve of Cenred’s men before he went down. One of them said my father left his best sword with my mother when he left.” He held his aloft, watching as Tony followed his lead. “As if she wanted it.”

 _Clink, clink, clink, step._ “Did she talk about him a lot when you were growing up?”

“Not really. I heard just enough to know we were better off without him.” _Clink, clink, clink, step._ “I put my faith in what I can see; not what I’m told.”

 _Clink, clink, clink, step._ “And yet you still see the world through rose colored glasses,” Tony mused, earning a curious stare. He let Steve march him backwards, keeping up with the motions. “You take men like Tiberius Stone and try to make them into knights. Trust men like Fury.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Trust is a strong word. I suppose I trust that our interests are aligned. For now, that’s enough. It’s plenty difficult being at war, even harder when you can’t trust the men at your back.”

 _Clink, clink, clink._ “So, I’m to be careful, but you—”

“Tony!” a voice called out.

It happened so quickly – Tony barely saw it happen. The sword sliced through the wind, smoothly embedding itself in Tony’s shoulder. Stiffening, Tony looked to Steve in confusion. Taking in his ghastly pale face and the stark horror he found there. The warm sticky spill of blood across his hands and the steady throb of his heart, the weakness in his legs.

“Tony!” the voice called again as Steve rushed forward, words spilling from his lips in a mindless jumble.

“Tony, oh my god. I’m sorry, Tony. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me. God forgive me.” He pushed Tony carefully on his back, yanking his own chainmail shirt over his head and ripping his tunic off after. He pressed the fabric to Tony’s chest, streaks of red across his face. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” Tony waved, gazing up at the sky as his vision started to swim. Steve sounded so worried. “Don’t be stupid. It’s just a cut.”

“What were you two doing out here?” a voice demanded. Jarvis.

“We were just practicing,” Tony whispered, his stomach twisting.

“What were you thinking? Playing around with real swords!” he demanded, shoving at Steve’s arms.

Steve held his ground, his face tense as he held pressure. “We practiced for nearly seven months before I gave him a real one. I put him in chainmail. My chainmail.”

Just a little too big but Steve didn’t trust anyone else’s equipment. Tony had grown warm at the concept, hiding a smile when Steve pulled it over his head. Such a sweet moment, now it was ruined.

“Go,” Jarvis bit out, shoving at Steve’s hands. “Go! Get Madame Foster and bring back more men to carry him.”

“I can—”

“Go!” Steve’s panicked eyes met Tony’s, his mouth a thin line. Finally, he stood up and turned to leave.

Tony blinked up at Jarvis, his head swimming. “Not his fault, Jarvis.” His eyes fell shut. “I asked him.”

 

+

Tony woke up to find the last person he wanted to see.

“What were you thinking, Anthony?”

Groaning, Tony opened his eyes to find Tiberius Stone sitting at his bedside, an apple in hand. “What do you want, Ty?”

“It’s a simple question.” He smiled, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “Did you fancy yourself a knight? Picture yourself in Camelot red running off to save the day?” he teased.

“Shut up.”

“When are you going to learn that you can’t do everything I can do?”

“Why are you here?”

Tiberius held his gaze for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “For what it’s worth, I am glad to see you’re alive. You bled a lot.”

Tony shifted around a bit before stiffening at the throbbing pain in his shoulder, the dull ache in his body. Pulling the covers back, he found thick bandages wrapped across his chest and over his shoulder. For a brief moment, he’d forgotten what happened. Then it all came flooding back: Steve’s encouraging smile, the sun beating down on them from above, the panic in Steve’s eyes afterwards. He touched the bandages softly, his stomach turning.

He’d examine the damage later. For now, “Why are you here?”

“That’s no way to treat an old friend.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not one.”

Tiberius’ eyes hardened. “I thought I’d offer a kind word or two. Your prince charming is down in the dungeons taking his punishment.”

Tony’s blood ran cold as he rose up quickly, lightheaded and dizzy. “You’re a fool, you know that?” Tiberius scolding, rushing forward to push him back into bed. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

Tony paid him no mind, sliding his feet to the ground and pushing himself up. His vision swam for a moment, stomach twisting violently. He pushed through it, hurrying down the halls. He nearly slammed into Lady van Dyne, rather frazzled and more than a little surprised to see Tony in the hall. “Tony, what are you doing?”

She slid beneath his good arm and helped him keep balance. “Going to the dungeons.”

Sighing, Jan stood in place. “Don’t. There’s nothing you can do.” When Tony pressed on, she cursed and helped him.

The staff stared after them as they moved through the halls, Tony barefoot and shirtless, Jan dressed in pristine silk garments and nearly half his size. The dungeons were on the far end of the west wing, several feet from the medical rooms. Halfway there, the last of Tony’s strength had fled. Jan was carrying him by this point. He’d thank her later.

They came to the narrow stairwell, the temperature dropping several degrees. Chilled, Tony started to descend, his feet nearly frozen to the cool stone. He heard a loud snap and his heart leapt to his throat. With renewed energy, he hurried down the steps, holding onto the railing with a vice grip. Another snap and a stifled grunt. Jan took hold of his free hand, squeezing it tight.

“We shouldn’t be here,” she tried.

But Tony needed to see.

They moved through the drafty, dark hall towards the sounds. Another snap and quiet panting. Tony pushed through a small group of knives to find Steve on his knees in the cell at the end, his arms tied to two posts. A large man, one that Tony had never seen, stood behind him, a whip in hand. His arm reared back and he swung forward rapidly, a loud crack echoing throughout the hall. Steve stiffened, a long red welt spreading across his back, blood trailing down in rivulets.

“Stop!” Tony shouted, his heart pounding in his chest. A few of the men turned as the whip sounded again, cutting a new line across the others. If Tony stood to count, he’d find thirty-four.

The whip came down again, drawing a stifled curse from Steve’s lips. Bent and broken, his hands squeezing tight around his bonds.

“Stop this!”

Jan held onto his hand, hers small in his. “Tony,” she pressed to his side as there was another crack and Steve shivered. “Tony, he asked.”

Another crack and Steve cried out, his back opening up and spilling more blood. Bile rose in Tony’s throat and he pushed forward, fighting Jan’s hold and the knights holding him back. He’d never heard Steve scream before.

“Stop! Please,” he begged, rattling the bars as the whip came down again.

Steve pulled at his binds, his body a tense line. Another crack and Steve let out a sobbing breath, his body going lax. The man back away, pocketing his whip as Steve curled over his knees, shaking in the chilled room. The rest of the men left, shooting Tony looks of disapproval. Jan opened the cell door, hanging back as Tony rushed inside.

Steve was still, his breathing labored. As Tony crept forward, he was too afraid to touch him. His hands curled at his sides as he came to stop beside him. In the dim lighting, Tony could make out crossed lines of raised skin, the scent of copper turning his stomach. A few were still bleeding sluggishly, his beautiful pale skin marred by a punishment Steve hadn’t earned. Tony couldn’t fix this. He could never take this back.

Swallowing thickly, he kneeled down at Steve’s side. Reaching out, he touched Steve’s face, stiffening when Steve gasped and tried to pull away from him in panic. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Tony.”

Steve looked to him with wide eyes, the beautiful blue dull and muted in the dimly lit room. His lips were bitten and cracked, his face glistening with sweat. He held Tony’s gaze for a long moment, his shoulders tense. Then, all at once, he melted into Tony’s palm.

Licking his lips, he rasped, “Are you alright?” There was an urgency in his tone, his eyes sharp and searching.

“Yes,” Tony said, his chest tight. “I’m fine.”

“You’re alright?” he asked more earnestly, earning another nod. His eyes darted away. “No one would tell me,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I know that. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“I can’t.”

“It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll talk to them and they’ll let you out.”

Steve shook his head, looking to him. “They were always going to let me out. I’m Fury’s second in command.”

“They why are you in here? Why did they do this to you?”

“I broke the rules.”

“I asked you to.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His eyes were wet. “I hurt you.”

“I’m alright. I’ve told you.”

“I struck you with my sword,” he said carefully. “That was my doing. I drew your blood. I can’t forget that.”

Tony stared at him wordlessly. Steve sounded so certain, even kneeling in a room that couldn’t have been larger than one of Tony’s closets. Covered in dirt and grime, Tony could only guess how long he’d been here.

“Let me,” he stumbled over a response, his head swimming. “Let me get someone to see about your back.”

Steve turned way. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

Tony tried for a smile. “You’ll forgive me if I say that isn’t very comforting.” At Steve’s silence, he tried again. “Please.”

“They don’t punish knights like this. You know that,” he said quietly.

A beat. “You asked.”

Steve looked to him, holding his gaze for a few moments. “Jarvis wanted me banished.” His words were soft, “I didn’t want that.”

 _Of course, Steve would never abandon his country_.

Cursing, Tony searched for something safe to say. Touching Steve’s shoulder, he tried again, “Let me do it, then., If you won’t let me call for Madame Foster, let me at least clean you up and put some bandages on?”

Steve hesitated, his body tense. Finally, he nodded, touching Tony’s hand. Tony moved to the bars where Jan was watching quietly. “Can you go get some bandages and something to clean the wounds?” His voice lowered. “And something for his pain.”

Jan rushed off, leaving them alone in the dark room. Tony returned to Steve’s side, watching as Steve shivered minutely, his face pained. Reaching out tentatively, Tony slid his fingers through Steve’s hair. With a sigh, Steve melted into him, his face pressed to Tony’s throat. It made Tony’s eyes warm, loosening his lips.

“Did I ever tell you how my parents met?” Steve’s breathing quieted. “When my father was younger, he didn’t have a cent to his name. He was working with my grandfather as a blacksmith, trying to keep up with the taxes on a small shop outside the kingdom.”

Steve stiffened at the sounds of rushing footsteps echoing in the darkness. Jan reappeared, supplies in hand. Tony was reluctant to leave him but he stepped away long enough to gather them with thanks. Jan left, a question in her eyes. But she didn’t ask it. Tony returned to Steve, setting out the supplies. He set about cleaning the wound on Steve’s shoulder, showing him the pad before he begun.

“One day, my mother came through on a trip with her family. Their carriage broke down and the nearest building was my grandfather’s shop. They fixed the broken wheel and sent my mother on her way. I guess my father was quite the charmer because she came back the next week. And the next. And the next until I came along.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth turned up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Some days, it seems that way.”

He moved around to Steve’s back, his throat tightening. Up close, he was able to get a better look at the stark raised lines across Steve’s back. The stronger scent of blood in his nose. This would scar, forty marks across Steve’s back. A constant reminder. And all Tony’s fault.

His eyes spilled over, words caught in his throat. Steve reached back to squeeze his hand. “Go on,” he said quietly.

Tony’s eyes warmed as he returned to his work. “It would have ruined her. A baby with a commoner? And unwed?” He traced over Steve’s knuckles with his thumb, squeezing tight. “My grandmother had them married in the dead of night. Sold my grandfather’s work as the best weapons in the land. Sold his services to the King. There was a war – weapons were in high demand. Just like that, my family became noblemen.”

“You know my lineage,” Steve replied. “What’s your point?”

Tony studied the trails of dried blood, grabbing a pad and carefully cleaning the wounds. Steve stiffened, gradually relaxing as Tony worked. Resigned even in this.

It loosened Tony’s lips. “My point,” he leaned in, blowing on Steve’s skin to soothe the sting. Shivering, Steve’s breath caught as Tony moved into his line of sight. Bright blue, honest and earnest as ever. “My point is that my father was so close to dying a poor blacksmith that no one had ever heard of. It was by chance that he met my mother at all. She so easily could have stayed home that day or the carriage could have broken down anywhere else along that stretch of road. I could have died in a bad winter or from the flu or,” Steve squeezed his hand, eyes hard. “It was by chance that they met.”

“I understand that part, yes.”

Tony held his gaze, his chest tightening as he found it harder to breathe. In a gentle tone, “It was by chance that we met at all.” He averted his gaze, returning to his work. “I’m grateful to you for so much. I’m afraid I’ll never stop owing you.”

Steve took his hand, holding it still. “You don’t owe me a thing. If anything, it is I that owes you.”

“For what? An endless headache and the inconsiderate procurement of all of your spare time?”

Steve turned in profile, his blond lashes fanning out over his cheek. Such delicate features for such a strong man. “For six months of this. Being with you, having someone expect more of me than use of my sword – it’s meant more to me than you could possibly know. Thank you,” he whispered turning back to the wall. Tony’s heart beat fast in his chest as Steve let go of his hand. “I hope to earn it someday.”

+

Tony stayed with Steve for as long as he was allowed.

A few hours before daybreak, the guards returned and forced him out of the cell. Steve had fallen asleep, his head on Tony’s thigh. The casual stroking of Tony’s fingers through his hair might’ve had something to do with it. The cold stone floor and drafty chill in the dungeons certainly hadn’t. Tony left reluctantly, trying everything from bribing the guard to offering to put in a good word with the queen – nothing would get Sir Umber to release Steve.

He returned to his room in a haze, feeling as though he’d left a part of himself behind.

Three weeks passed before Sir Rogers was released from his cell. Another two before Jarvis mentioned he’d been seen at practice once again. The main field, never the one where they’d practiced together. Jarvis had made it clear that Tony wasn’t ever to return there. Five weeks since he’d picked up a sword and Tony was nearing desperation. Steve had ruined him.

Tony worked in the smith, creating more swords for the army. He spent time with Sir Richards and his experiments north of the castle. He spent more time with Jan, even learning the difference between silk of different regions. He’d even spent time helping Jarvis with his chores around their quarters. Anything to take his mind off the blond that had occupied so much of his mind.

Missing Steve was like losing one of his senses. Everything around him hadn’t changed, but it was like he’d lost his ability to be part of it. The sunlight was duller, all sounds muddled, every breath less refreshing than the last. He pressed on; he had no choice. But he’d never felt more alone in the kingdom than he did now.  

He’d taken to walking the castle grounds with Jan when he was at his most restless. He’d knock quietly on her door, she’d throw on a dressing gown and pace the corridors with him. As they walked, she’d tell him of her reoccurring nightmares. A beautiful woman shackled in the dungeons below, screaming for hours on end but no one could hear her. Jan wanted to rescue her. She woke every night before she could try.

This night, Tony spoke of what he always spoke of: Steve. Tony often wondered if she knew what Rogers had meant to him, but, then again, he didn’t even know. Was there a word for this feeling when the object of his affections was another man? It was unheard of.

Jan was questioning Lady Walters condition as the seamstresses had been tasked to repair a fifth custom gown this month. She’d just started speculating whether it was possible Lady Walters had found a voracious new consort when they heard a scream, echoing in the dark halls.

Jan took off towards it, calling out, “It’s her!”

“Jan!” Tony began, following after.

The scream sounded again, coming from a small hall closer. Tony moved in front of Jan, earning an elbow to the ribcage as she immediately moved around him. Together, they quietly neared one of the closed doors on the left. Jan turned the knob, quietly tiptoeing inside.

There were two children, a teenage girl with a small boy in her arms. Her hand covered his mouth as she stared at them in fear. Jan held out her hands placatingly, closing the door behind them. “We’re not here to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The girl shook her head, whispering. “They’ll find us.”

“Who will?” Tony asked.

“The bad men. They killed our parents,” the boy said, holding his sister’s hand.

“Who did?” Jan asked as the door behind her exploded into splinters, a few embedded in Tony’s arms.

Screaming, she dived forward to shield the children as Tony rushed one of the intruders. They slammed into the doorjamb, the man falling to the ground as Tony stole his sword. One of the other men swung at Jan and the children. Tony caught his blade with his own, kicking him swiftly in the chest. Jan scanned the room for anything that might help them, landing on a crossbow hanging on the wall.

She quickly grabbed it, shooting the first man in the knee as Tony’s opponent took him at a run. The two of them fell to the stone floor in the hall. Tony climbed to his feet, heart pounding as he tried to recall Steve’s training. This man was a mountain; even bigger than Steve. He swung a longsword like it weighed nothing and, with a similar sword in hand, Tony had a new appreciation for what Steve did every day.

One slip of Tony’s foot and the blade sliced into his bare shoulder, inches from the jagged scar there. With a grunt of pain, Tony spun out of the line of fire, sliding behind a nearby statue as the brute advanced on him. The sword came down again, faster than Tony could follow and slicing through his upper thigh. He was losing energy, and blood, at a rapid pace.

All at once, everything slowed. Tony cut everything out; the pounding of his heart, the burn in his lungs, the blood dripping down his thigh, this man’s heavy breathing. Everything faded away and there was just the plush grass of the practice field beneath his feet, calm blue eyes staring back at him, warm and encouraging. A practice sword in hand.

That’s all this was: practice.

He pushed past the soreness in his limbs, the sweat dripping down his back as he put the last of his energy into rushing out, the clang of their swords echoing through the hall. _Clink, clink, clink, step_. Steve’s steady voice in his ear as he met every movement with one of his own. The man lunged, his moves slow and lumbering. Tony’s wrist curved in one sweeping slash, slicing easily through the man’s leather gorget and putting him on his back, clutching his neck with gurgling breaths, his eyes wide and angry. Tony stood over him, stomach twisting as he watched the man writhe before the last of his life fled.

Tony had never killed anyone before.

He turned away, his hand over his mouth as his stomach twisted violently. A voice shouted, heavy boots pounding the hard-stone floors. Tony looked up in time to see an arc of blood, some of which landed on his arms and face. Steve stood next to him in half of his armor, his sword embedded in the man’s heart.

Concerned blue eyes cut to Tony’s urgently, a gloved hand reaching out to touch Tony’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

Stunned, Tony stared at him silently. Steve’s brow furrowed, his words insistent. “Tony? Answer me.” His hand touched Tony’s thigh, warm through the light fabric of his trousers. “You’re hurt. Here, let me.” Dressed only in a tunic and his leg coverings, he easily tore the sleeve from his shirt and kneeled, wrapping it tight around Tony’s thigh. “We’ll get you to Madame Foster.”

Tony stood still, focused on the man beneath them. A dagger lay beside him on the floor. “I did this, Steve.”

Steve returned to him, his eyes soft. Reaching up, his thumb rubbed at a speck of blood on Tony’s cheek. “I know. You had to. He was going to kill you.”

It wasn’t much of a comfort and Tony averted his gaze. He pulled away carefully, returning to the small room to find Jan comforting the children. Upon seeing Tony, she smiled a bit.

“It’s okay, little ones. The bad men have gone.” She stroked the boy’s back as she looked to Steve. “Haven’t they?”

Steve nodded, his hand on Tony’s back. After so long without even a kind word, Tony was a little overwhelmed at having Steve so close again. His familiar scent of leather and iron as his voice washed over him. “I’ll gather the troops and send Madame Foster your way.”

He turned to leave and Tony caught his wrist. “Steve, thank you—”

“There’s no time, Tony. I have to go.” He pinned Tony with a stern look. “Stay out of trouble.”

“How can I? This is my home.” Steve turned, his shoulders tense. “Cenred attacked us in our home. This is my fight as much as it is yours.”

“We will handle it.”

“I can help!”

Striding forward, “You will stay here. That’s an order.” He turned his back on Tony and headed down the hall as Tony cursed.

Returning to Jan, he nearly stumbled over one of the men’s swords. Tony crept closer, a chill running down his spine.

He’d made this sword.

+

Steve was losing this war.

Odin’s castle lay in ruin.

In Cenred’s attempt to avenge his allegiance with Camelot, Thor was slain. His brother Loki had disappeared and his sister Angela had fled to Camelot on horseback to rally more troops. In doing so, she’d led raiders behind Camelot’s gates. Several of Steve’s men weren’t appreciative of that. At the queen’s hesitation, Steve rounded up any and all knights who were willing to uphold their duty to Odin. It meant leaving in the dead of night. It meant splitting their army in half – those unwilling to risk their lives for an outsider and those loyal to the royal alliance.

The army had attacked Cenred’s men from the east, but those few moments of advantage were quickly lost when Cenred’s general cut through Steve’s men like they were tissue paper. Their weaponry was so much more advanced than the Widow’s reports indicated. Their armor much thicker than anticipated. Steve rode through with Sir Dugan to the Richard’s property and found a bloodbath, Lady Richards, her husband and children nowhere to be found.

Johnny Storm and Ben Grimm joined the war effort afterwards. Storm was less disciplined than the rest of Steve’s men. Took more needless risk and preferred a quick solution to a refined one. It drove Steve crazy. In some ways, Storm reminded Steve a lot of the man he’d left at home.

Tony.

It wasn’t until Steve had gotten several leagues from the castle that he really settled on why he’d been so cross with Tony that night several weeks earlier. Arriving on scene to find that man reaching for Tony, dagger in hand and Tony already covered in blood, Steve had only had one thought: protect Tony. Not the castle, not the kingdom. All thought fled and he’d thrust his sword into the man’s heart before he’d had time to think. Tony’s insistence that he suit up and join Steve was unthinkable. The idea of him suited up like one of Steve’s men, standing alongside him in battle in a war Steve knew he had very little chance of winning – Steve had dismissed it immediately.

Steve had spent months teaching Tony nearly everything he knew about sword fighting, armors and battle. He’d claimed the training in the interest of teaching self-defense but there was no real reason to teach Tony the techniques of the Latverian army or how to maneuver a Xandarian spear. The chances of Tony ever encountering either of them were slim to none. In truth, Steve had been coming up with thinly veiled excuses to stretch out their classes for weeks before the incident. He hadn’t even realized why.

If there was a word for what Steve felt about the man he’d come to know, it was love.

It wasn’t a passion for teaching that kept him up late at night playing hide and seek in the castle to teach Tony the art of stealth. It wasn’t respect for his kingdom’s noblemen that kept him at Tony’s back guiding him through the proper wrist movements for each technique. It wasn’t brotherhood that kept him coming back for six months when he had other duties to attend to. It wasn’t the spirit of friendship that kept him sneaking out of his rooms at all hours to show Tony the armory.

In the absence of a finer definition, Steve settled on what he knew. He loved Tony Stark. He was in love with him and he had been since that first day he pulled him out of the dirt in the market square. Tony had said it best – it was by chance that they’d met at all. And now, in the face of an unwinnable war, Steve had never been more grateful.

Now he had an even better reason to die.

There was no place for this kind of love. Not for them. Not now. Even if Tony hadn’t been above his station, Steve could never pursue such a thing. He had a duty to his queen and country. He had a duty to his men. If anyone found out, he would be banished for sure. And if Tony had found out…

Steve would bury this. Deep down, in the pit of his heart, where only he knew it resided. It’d keep him warm, keep him motivated as he continued to fight a hopeless war. He would remember who he was trying to protect.

Steve rode out to meet Sir Danvers where she stood watching over the quiet valleys with a sharp eye. “A little too quiet,” she mused, reading his thoughts. “I’ve received word from my men in the North. Cenred’s sending messengers out to the outlying villages. Surrender now and be spared. Honor allegiance with Camelot and burn.”

Steve lip curled, his voice gruff. “How many have folded?”

“A few of the smaller ones. Castle’s homestead remains heavily guarded. He seems to have barricaded himself inside. Lady Frost is standing strong. The strangest thing keeps happening,” Danvers began saddling up, a teasing glint in her eye. “Every time Cenred sends a messenger, he simply _forgets_ what he came there to say. Most peculiar.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth turned up. “Most.”

He gave her a nod and cut down to meet with his troops at the bottom of the valley. The stretch of green seemed to go on forever, the cool air whipping at his cape. Too beautiful a landscape to be the setting for death and destruction. His men stood tall, waiting for their next orders. The moment he reached the front line, he heard the horn.

Heart pounding, he watched as a plume of fire burst through the center of his line. “Dragons!” a voice called out and Steve veered away, sending a page to warn the rest of his men.

“On me!” he called out, rising up and riding hard and fast for the opening to the valley.

His men followed behind, quickly falling in line. Steve could smell the familiar scent of burning flesh, his stomach turning. He’d ridden through villages after Cenred’s dragons passed through. He’d seen the piles of ash and charred flesh, men burned alive in their armors, begging for death. He didn’t want to become one of them.

He rode down the grassy fields, too soft to truly pick up the speed he needed. He pushed Buck as hard as he could, eyes on the safe place awaiting them. Finally, he shot through the opening to reveal the miles of low plains below, where Cenred’s army came into view.

They were vastly outnumbered.

Dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of men on horseback as far as the eye could see. Spread out and poised to cut Steve’s army off, whatever direction they chose. With only five hundred men here, the rest spread out across the kingdom, Steve simply didn’t have the men. He might very well lose this war.

Cenred would take Camelot. The guards would be slaughtered. They’d take the women and children and sell the rest to the highest bidder. And Tony -- Steve climbed off his horse on shaky legs, heart in his throat. He stripped off his sword belt and took his longsword in hand, bracing himself and sending up a wordless prayer.

A crack of thunder and a flash of lightning.

A battle cry.

“For Asgard!” Steve spun around in shock to the rumbling sounds of men on horseback. The ground shook, excitement in the air as several knights cut through the charred ground and raced through Steve’s lines, coming to a stop at the crest of the opening.

Roughly two thousand or so. Not enough, but it was something. They had a fighting chance.

A familiar blond came to a stop beside Steve, a fierce snarl on his face. “Thor,” Steve greeted in relief. “They said you were dead.”

They locked arms, Thor’s eyes a clear blue, vibrant and focused. “Aye, it’d take more than a coward’s army to kill me, my good friend.” His eyes cut to the men below. “Our numbers were severely depleted. I’m afraid this is all that’s left of my men.”

“My men spread out. He planned for that. He’s been one step ahead of me this entire battle,” Steve confessed.

“Are you two going to stand here and whine, or are you going to fight?” Danvers asked, coming to a stop behind them. Warbird huffed, eager to jump into the fray.

“This may be our last battle,” Steve warned.

“I’d rather go down fighting than surrender, you know that,” Thor replied. He looked to Danvers who nodded in agreement, a glimmer of a smile on her face.

“Alright,” Steve replied.

“Call it,” Danvers said.

Steve looked around at his men and Thor’s, his heart beating faster. His eyes closed, just for a moment as he remembered Tony’s smile and the fondness in his eyes. The sound of his voice. He wished they’d said a longer goodbye.

Finally, he climbed on his horse, thrusting his sword in the air. “For the love of Camelot!” Steve shouted, gripping his reins as he rode down the hill. His men echoed his cry, galloping forward.

A sea of red racing towards an army of black and forest green. Thor and Carol rode beside him, quickly getting lost as they cut through Cenred’s lines. Steve sliced through a few leather straps, unseating a few soldiers as he rode. He could hear the loud clanging of swords meeting, grunts of pain over the whinnies of the horses. Steve rode quickly, making a full circle before he was unseated.

No matter, he fought better on his feet. He cut several men down, offering mercy whenever he could. Cenred’s men were untrained and unrestrained. Steve took down quite a few by simply waiting for them to tire themselves out. He’d just spared one teenager his life when a heavy weight slammed into his back.

Turning, he thrust his sword up to block a stray blade. It bore down, a man nearly twice his size towered over him, a grimace on his face and hate burning in his eyes. He swung powerfully, taking advantage of Steve’s fatigue, getting him on his knees, the tension in his arms near painful. Steve had lost his shield hours ago and its absence was felt as a slice to the forearm cut through his gauntlet and he lost his weapon.

He punched the man in the face, scrambling for his sword when the flat of the man’s blade touched his chin. Gazing up at him, Steve panted quietly, his mind racing. A part of him wondered if he should pray.

The man leaned forward, his blade digging into Steve’s throat. Then he let out a grunt, face twisting as he fell to his knees. A man in armor stood behind him, pulling his sword from the man’s back. He wore Camelot red and a faceplate Steve had never seen before. Steve stood on shaky legs, holding out a hand.

“Thank you, brother.”

The man nodded jerkily, stepping backwards. His voice was stern and deep, “Come on, then. We’ve got a war to win.”

+

With Thor’s help, they managed to hold the fight long enough for Cenred’s men to turn tail and flee.

Steve had no illusions; he knew they’d be back. Knowing Cenred, they’d have more men than they’d ever had before. This wasn’t the last battle., It may not even be the last battle tonight. Still, his men were tired and they needed at least a few hours rest. Steve had them travel back into the higher land and set up camp.

He paced around the fire, Thor, Danvers, Wilson and Dugan listening on. The mystery knight hovered nearby. “We need to end this and we need to end it now,” Steve said.

“Wow, I’m so glad you said that.” Steve looked to Danvers as she sipped water from her canteen. “The thought never occurred to me.”

Wilson stifled a laugh as Steve continued. “We need a plan. Everything we’ve done thus far has been reactionary. We need to be proactive.”

“Go after him? He has three times the men that we have,” Dugan said.

“What if we used their own tools against them? Use their dragons to lure part of his army away from the rest and take them apart in segments?” Danvers suggested.

“Too risky. There’s no guarantee they won’t just send all their men and we have no way to take down one of their dragons. We don’t have Rand with us anymore,” Steve said. Grumbling, he ran a tired hand over his head. “We need-“

“To take out their armory.” Steve stiffened, turning towards the mystery knight. Striding forward, he spoke again, “Their weapons. Their catapults and swords… _crossbows_. We can’t double our men, but we can take out their weaponry.”

“Let me get this straight?” Wilson began, leaning in towards the fire. “You want to march right up to Cenred’s door and, what? _Ask_ him to hand over his weapons?”

“I don’t intend to ask,” the knight replied sternly.

“This is crazy,” Danvers said with a shake of the head. “You can’t expect us all to slip in undetected. Once caught, and we would be caught, we’d be surrounded, in their territory, with no hope of escaping.”

“So, I’ll go alone. No problem.”

“Where did you find this guy, Steve?” Dugan asked.

“You’re not going alone,” Steve said, moving in towards the man. There was something about him that made Steve want to trust him. “I have to admit; your plan sounds more than a little risky.”

“You don’t have to go with me. I can handle this.” His eyes were the only part of him that Steve could see through his helmet. Bright blue and determined. Focused. Certain.

“No, I think, if this is going to happen, I’m going with you.”

Wilson stood, marching closer to them. “Steve, no way. This is crazy. You don’t even know this fellow.”

“What’s happening?” Dugan asked as Danvers stood, hand on the hilt of her sword.

“This could be a trap,” she suggested.

Steve studied the man before them for a moment. Having never put much stock into what he was told, Steve put his faith in what he could see. “This man saved my life today when it would have been a hell of a lot easier to let me die. I trust him.” He turned to the others, “Get some rest. While I’m gone, Wilson will lead.”

He turned to gather his things, leaving the others to stare after him in a stunned silence.

+

Hours later, Steve watched as the stranger saddled his horse. It was one of the horses from the stables in Camelot, but not one that had ever been into battle, as far as Steve knew. No, this horse, Friday, had never gone further than the outer towns. She was Tony’s horse.

Steve pulled his gloves on, his breath misting in the cool air. “Sir Stark let you borrow his horse?”

The man paused in his movements for a few seconds before continuing. “She’s mine, too.”

“How’s that?”

“Stark sent me on a quest. He wouldn’t let me leave with a substandard steed.”

Steve stroked Buck’s hair, his words measured. “And you’re a knight? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m a sellsword,” he explained.

“Funny,” Steve climbed on his horse, gripping the reins. “Tony’s never mentioned you before.”

“There’s a lot Tony’s never mentioned to you before.” He climbed on Friday and set off into the night, leaving Steve to follow behind, an unsettled weight on his chest.

+

When they arrived at Cenred’s castle, there were four guards at the main gate. They went around to the south wall where one guard was manning the ship’s port. There, the stranger pulled out a crossbow, one unlike the common faire in the armory. He quickly shot out the man’s knees. The guard went down with a grunt as Steve raced over on foot to silence him before he could call out a warning.

The marsh was wet and muddy, the water coming up to their thighs as they marched in. In several layers of armor, Steve quickly began to feel the weight of it. They reached a small walkway where Steve climbed out of the water and helped his comrade. He was panting quietly, offering Steve a whispered thanks as he took in their surroundings.

Cenred’s castle was dark and dreary, the colors dark and muted where Camelot’s were vibrant and bold. Steve and the sellsword had left their colors behind before leaving their camp.

“Do you have any clue where we’re headed?” Steve asked.

“No, I don’t.” He moved quietly, keeping to the shadows.

“Why is this so important to you?” The man looked to him in question as they trudged through the basement level. “There’s a war going on to protect the realm and you stay behind. But you’d throw yourself in the thick of it at Tony’s request?”

_Was there a chance that another man felt the way he did about Tony?_

The man was quiet for a while. Then, he reached for his sword. Steve rushed him, slamming him into the stone walls, the torch light bearing down upon his armor. Panting, he man held his hands up in surrender, his voice higher than it had been before.

“Whoa, whoa, wait. I’m sorry, I was just going to show you something.”

“My insides?”

“What? No! No, of course not.” He waited, his breathing heavy. Then he gestured to his belt, “Can I?” Steve pushed back but left his elbow pressed against the man’s throat. Nodding once, he watched as the man pulled his sword out of his belt. “Look at this.”

Steve held his gaze until the man huffed and pulled the hilt between them. “It’s a Stark sword. So what?”

“So, I pulled this sword off one of the raiders that attached Sir Stark in the castle. Those men were equipped with Stark weapons.”

Steve studied the sword closer, a question forming. “They have our weapons.”

“Not only that, they have the plans for things Stark has only dreamed of. Someone’s selling them weapons and information and I’m the only person Stark trusts to find out.”

Steve’s chest tightened as he pulled away. “Well, then. Let’s get this over with.”

They moved through the halls carefully, ears trained for any sign of guards or soldiers. The sellsword started checking doors. They moved through a few floors, only encountering a few guards Steve easily decapacitated. After a few wrong turns, they found the armory.

Slipping inside, Steve closed to door behind them quietly. Calling out, “Grab a bin and we’ll take as many as we can through the base level.” To his dismay, the man reached up and grabbed one of the torches on the wall. Steve rushed over, snatching his wrist, “Are you insane?”

“I think we’ve already established that.”

“Do you want to get caught?” he hissed, yanking the man’s hand down. “If you light that thing, the guards will come running in no time. We can see just fine.”

The eyes turned bright and laughing. “As much as I’m enjoying you holding my hand by the moonlight,” Steve warmed, “I’m not lighting this to see better.”

Steve frowned, releasing him. “Then, why?”

The man pulled out a match and struck it against the wall, lighting the torch.

And then holding it to the wooden table in the center of the room.

It caught flame in seconds. Steve watched in horror as the man went around the room pulling down axes, spears, crossbows and swords. Gauntlets, chest plates, helmets, and spaulders. Boots, sword belts, he tossed them all. The fire grew larger in size, quickly swallowing the battle plans and maps on the nearby table. With a groan, the entire thing tipped over on its corner, the room erupting in flames.

Steve caught site of a map of Camelot’s castle. He rushed forward to save it, stifling a burn in the corner. The handwriting seemed strangely familiar, trailing along the circled areas. With horror, Steve recognized one of those places as Tony’s quarters in the west wing. He looked to the man in the armor, steadily focused on checking every nook and cranny. Well, that left Steve to keep an eye on the door.

There was no way the guards hadn’t noticed the fire or smelled the smoke. It was a wonder they hadn’t come running by now. They must be bidding their time.

The air grew thin and Steve hurried over the throw the shutters open, smoke billowing out in plumes. The armory was burning down.

The door opened and a man entered.

In Camelot red.

“What a surprise.” Steve knew that voice. The helmet came off, revealing a blond head. “I thought you too smart to do something so reckless. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Stone,” the man beside him said. “What have you done?”

Stone came closer, touching the table by the door, the plans atop it. “If you are who I think you are, I shouldn’t have to explain myself. You know firsthand what it is to break the rules to get something you really, _really_ want, don’t you?”

Steve swallowed, looking to the man beside him. “I would have never done this,” the knight said.

“You sure about that?” Stone asked with a smile.

“You’ve been selling Cenred our weapons and information. You’ve put innocent people in danger. Women! _Children!_ ”

“As did your father when I was growing up. Or do the children only matter when they’re from Camelot?”

“What are you talking about?” the stranger asked, stepping forward. His voice sounded strangely familiar.

“I could have been a normal child. Grown up in a castle on the edges of the kingdom where the only things I had to worry about were what to do with all my riches once my parents died. A nobleman with land to my name. Instead, your father insisted Camelot needed more men to fight in her war. My father went and decided the rest of my future,” he sneered.

“You’re wrong, Stone. You would have never been normal,” the man replied.

“I thought you would have understood, Anthony.” He strode closer, his eyes dark. “After all, you’ve never cared what about titles or lineages. The rules of conduct and chivalry. At least, you didn’t when I was between your legs.”

Steve stiffened, his blood running cold. Still, his suspicions didn’t quite set in until the man slowly pushed his faceplate up. Familiar blue eyes met his in apology.

 _Tony_.

“That’s enough, Ty,” he said softly. “There’s still time to fix this.”

Steve was staring at him quietly in disbelief. How had he gotten here? And when? He’d saved Steve’s life on the battlefield. He’d been in the middle of all that death and destruction, fearing for his life. He could have died. He still might.

“Fix what? What is it you think I’ve done?” he demanded, stepping over a charred piece of wood. The tapestries had caught fire. They needed to leave before the air grew too thin. “You don’t know half of what I’m capable of!”

A loud bell sounded in the distance, clanging as the sounds of men shouting met their ears.

The alarm.

Steve slid in front of Tony, eying the only way out. The door behind Stone.

“We have to get out of here,” Steve said, forcing the words past his lips. “Come with us. You can go back to Camelot and answer for your crimes.”

“What part of this are you not getting?” Stone asked. “There’s no version of this where you come out on top. No version of this story where you’re the good guy, and I’m the villain. I outsmarted you at every turn. You and your army. Who do you think sent them to meet with Lady Carter’s men at Albion? Or to cut off Dugan’s food supply in the east? Who do you think burned the Storm lands to the ground?”

“Not you,” Tony said, striding forward, his face twisted in anger. “None of that was you because you’ve never done anything yourself in your entire life. All you’ve done is send other people to do your dirty work.”

He stood inches away from Stone, his eyes burning. Stone smiled, his words soft. “You never used to care.”

A wooden beam overhead let out a loud crack as part of it detached from the ceiling and tumbled down. Steve shouted, shoving Tony out of the way. They slammed into the stone wall as part of the wood grazed Steve’s shoulder, the heat burning through. There was a loud thud and they turned to find Stone lying on the floor, the beam crossed between him and the escape route. Tony’s eyes widened in fear as Steve pulled his faceplate down and shoved him through the door, his burned skin brushing against his chainmail painfully.

When he returned for Stone, the room was engulfed in flames, too much to see inside. Steve covered his mouth, crouching as he hurried inside. He couldn’t see Stone through the smoke or hear him inside. Steve tried anyway, moving forward as a hand snatched his arms and pulled him back.

“Tony! We can’t leave him,” he began as the wooden doorframe started to collapse, the large helving tumbling down in front of him. Tony hauled him backwards, falling back as Steve fell on top of him.

Steve sat back, watching helplessly as the fire spread. He looked to Tony with wide eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Tony held his gaze, his skin ashen white. Finally, he nodded. “I know.” He turned to face the far wall, bracing himself.

It was then that Steve heard it: the sound of several heavy bootsteps on the stone floors, the familiar clink of chainmail. Approaching from the east and the west and growing louder by the second. Cenred’s men were coming for them. There was no way out but to fight.

He shoved Tony down the hall, commanding, “Go, we’ll find you a place to hide.”

“What?”

“It’s not safe. They’re coming.”

“I know that. I’m here to fight, not run away.”

“You’re not a knight, Tony,” Steve insisted, throwing open the door to a small bedroom and shoving Tony inside. “You’ll stay here.”

“No, I won’t! There are people out there. Innocent people being slaughtered with my weapons!”

“This is not up for discussion,” Steve asserted. “It’s bad enough you disobeyed my orders coming here.”

“I will not leave you here alone!”

“Yes, you will!” Tony tried to push past Steve through the entrance but Steve refused to budge.

They stared each other down, breathing heavily. Cenred’s men grew nearer.

Tony pulled off his right gauntlet and tossed it at Steve’s feet.

Steve stared at him in astonishment before his eyes cut down to the object below. Then back to Tony, “You know what that means.” Tony nodded, that familiar determined twist to his mouth. “I’m not going to dance with you.”

“It would be the worst time to ask seeing as we’re about to be ambushed,” he said. “I’m not staying here so, either you take me down now or you _let me help you_.”

They were at a stalemate – Steve refusing to budge and Tony making no effort to pick up his gauntlet. The men were getting closer, shouting commands as their footsteps sounded closer by the second. Finally, Steve cursed, turning back to the hallway.  

“Fine, but stay behind me.”

Tony disobeyed almost immediately. Steve opened the door to the small room as Tony shot ahead of him, raising his sword above his head to catch an oncoming blade. Steve froze for a second before bursting into motion, jamming his sword into the man’s side through a small opening in his chainmail. He went down hard, his comrades leaving little time for Steve to breathe before he was rushing another knight, Tony following behind him.

He quickly lost sight of him, his attention swallowed in the sea of green and black, the clanging of swords and the rush of adrenaline in his veins. Even knowing they were outnumbered, that these might be his last moments, he couldn’t worry about himself. Not entirely. His eyes sought Tony in the mesh of chainmail and iron, moving mechanically and sparing no mercy for his opponents. Every man felled was a step closer to sending Tony home safe and unharmed.  

He worked with renewed vigor, his sword merely an extension of his arm. In the midst of all battle, he lost himself, blood and sweat sticking to him like a second skin. A second wind, methodical and skilled as he worked tirelessly. This wasn’t war; this was a brawl. There was no honor in any of this.

His back slammed into something solid and he turned, cutting down another one of Cenred’s men with a blade through the chest. Tony was at his back, panting, eyes bright and alert.

 _Alive_.

“Steve?” He reached out, pressing his palm to Steve’s chest. “Breathe. It’s okay. We’re safe.”

Steve stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. “With me, okay?” Tony asked. “In… out. Just like that.” Steve tried, his heartbeat slowing as he followed Tony’s lead. “With me. Just like that. Good.”

They stood in the center of nearly thirty men, drenched in blood. But they’d survived.

They were alive.

+

The end of the war was a somber affair.

With their armory destroyed, most Cenred’s army were defenseless. What little they had was barely enough to equip more than a few hundred men. With Thor’s army and the remaining seven hundred of Steve’s men, they dispatched the last of Cenred’s men with little trouble at all.

They were victorious. Camelot was safe again.

Thor and his people had been offered a place on the edge of the kingdom to rebuild. Danvers was headed off to help them find refuge. Wilson, Fury and Dugan were plotting how to remove Cenred’s men from the conquered lands. Steve should have sat in on those meetings but he wanted to make sure Tony got home safe and sound. And that he stayed there.

When they arrived in Camelot, Steve marched Tony up to his quarters. There, he stripped off Tony’s armor, piece by piece, methodical and silent. Tony lasted a few minutes before he started talking.

“In my defense, I asked you to let me help and you said no. Forbade me like I’m some sort of child.” Silence. “I’m a grown man. I knew what I was doing.”

Steve set the chainmail on a nearby chair and set about removing the bloodstained tunic. As he lifted it over Tony’s head, focused on his work. “You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes without me,” Tony added. “You were outnumbered and alone.”

Steve pushed him lightly as he stepped out of his trousers and stood naked in the center of the drafty room, the fire warming up in the corner. Tony’s quarters were so much larger than his own. In the light from the overhead torches, Steve got a good look at Tony’s body, his chest tightening in pain.

Tony’s back was covered in a litany of bruises and gashes, the worst of which was a cut along his left hip, jagged and bleeding sluggishly. His right thigh had a dark bruise about the size of a peach, a handprint on his right shoulder and a small burn on his left wrist. Turning him around, Steve took in the split lip, the bruise over his right cheek and a thin cut across his left pectoral. And the jagged, healing scar along his shoulder.

Steve touched it, his throat tight. Finally, he stepped back and went to fetch the medical kit. He set to work cleaning the wounds and patching up what he could. Tony was mercifully quiet, letting Steve maneuver him this way and that. Once he was finished, he cleaned up the area. Tony stood in the center of the room watching him nervously.

As Steve passed by, he snagged his wrist, his eyes firm. “You needed me. Don’t pretend that you didn’t.”

Steve held his gaze. “What are you?”

Tony blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Who do you think you are?” Tony gaped. “Who do you honestly think you are?” He moved forward, watching as Tony took a step back, eyes wide. “You are a nobleman in this kingdom. You are not a knight. You are not a soldier. You have not trained in the art of war for several years of your life. You were not bred to fight _in a war, Tony_. I fight to protect you! That’s the way this works!”

“Steve—”

“That’s the way this works! I do my job and you stay here! You stay home!” Tony fell back on the bed, gazing up at Steve, frozen. “You do your job and I do mine!” He cursed, turning around and running a hand over his head.

Tony’s voice was quiet, “They had my weapons. I had to stop it.”

Steve rested his hands on the nearby table, his breathing labored. “And if you’d died?” Tony was silent. Steve turned around to find him sitting on the end of the bed, his head lowered. “If I’d returned home to find you’d disobeyed my orders and you’d died on that field?”

Tony cleared his throat, raising his chin. “You mean, if you’d returned at all?” he asked plainly. “Why didn’t you tell me how hopeless this fight was?”

Steve swallowed, standing up straighter. “I didn’t know for sure.”

Tony’s mouth twisted as he climbed to his feet. “You knew. You’d been getting ravens every day. Danvers’ reports, Wilson’s, Lady Hill’s. You knew and you went anyway.”

Steve turned his head, stiffening when Tony gripped his chin and drew his attention. “If I’d stayed here knowing you’d rode into a hopeless fight, what would I have done?”

Eyes warm, Steve’s voice grew rough. “You would have moved on and lived your life. As you were born to do.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “I was born to die for this kingdom.”

“Well maybe I was born to die by your side.”

Steve’s breath caught, heart in his throat as he took in Tony’s certainty, the fire in his eyes. Steve moved forward before he even realized, drawn to Tony like a moth to a flame. Palming Tony’s throat as their mouths met in a clash of tongues and heat. Tony let out a soft sound, opening for him instantly. His hands fell to Steve’s waist, pulling him closer as he reached for the tie to Steve’s trousers. They fell at his feet and Steve stepped out of them, raising his arms above his head so Tony could pull his shirt off.

With a soft moan, Tony pulled Steve tight to him, bare and naked beneath the firelight. Tony moved backwards, falling back on the bed as Steve watched. Tony was a vision spread out on red silk sheets. Miles of brown skin, his toned thighs parting as Steve neared the bed. He wanted to remember this moment. Whatever came next, discovery and punishment, banishment, another war, Steve would remember this moment as it was. Tony arching up, a soft gasp escaping as he wrapped a hand around his hard length. Curving up along his belly and dripping as Steve climbed on top of him.

Their lips met briefly before Tony pulled away to look Steve in the eye. Then he reached over into the small table at his bedside and pulled out a small vial. Steve’s face warmed, sure that he was misinterpreting. Tony handed it to him, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“If you – well, if you _want_ , you could,” he trailed off, his face reddening.

Steve took pity on him, kissing his lips as he slid his palm along the inside of Tony’s thigh. Shivering, Tony lay back as Steve sat up on his knees and opened the vial. “You’re sure?” he asked. Tony nodded, watching as Steve slicked his fingers.

Arousal pooled in his stomach as Tony’s entrance came into view. Steve’s breath quickened, his thumb circling the rim gently. He pressed his middle finger to it, making sure to liberally coat his fingers. Finally, the tip dipped inside, the heat drawing Steve further inside. With a low groan, he watched avidly as the digit slipped inside. The tight heat made his cock pulse needfully in jealousy. He tried another finger, eyes cutting to Tony’s as he let out a soft moan.

“Have you done this before?” he asked and Steve shook his head once as he crooked his fingers. Tony shot up off the bed, his thighs tensing as he panted, “You’re just naturally good at this?”

Steve kissed the inside of his thigh, working his fingers further inside. “I’ve imagined this many times.”

“You have?”

Steve crooked his fingers again, brushing that spot deep inside. Tony writhed, letting out sobbing breaths. “I imagined this, my mouth on you, making love to you in a bed just like this one.” He removed his fingers, swallowing Tony’s soft murmurs with a kiss as he stretched out above him. “I think you’re ready.”

He slicked his cock, shuddering as he resisted the urge to buck into his hand. Time slowed, Tony’s eyes on his as he lined himself up. The trust Steve found there gave him pause, safe and warm, the way only Tony had ever made him feel. Like he could do anything, be anything, because they’d be together. Lining himself up, Steve held his gaze as he slowly pushed inside. Tony’s breath caught, eyes widening as Steve filled him inch by inch, his heart beating fast in his chest.

When Steve bottomed out, his eyes fell shut, nose buried in Tony’s throat as they lay chest to chest, joined completely. Tony shuddered, his arms wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. Steve stayed there for a few moments just breathing, relishing in the tight heat engulfing his length. Finally, he pulled back with a groan and pushed in deep, earning a soft gasp.

He set a slow rhythm, pushing in with deep, long strokes that nearly drove Tony crazy. He panted wetly against Tony’s throat, dropping a hand to palm Tony’s stomach as he snapped his hips forward. Crying out, Tony tightened around him, pushing down to take more of Steve’s length. With renewed vigor, Steve pressed him into the mattress and pushed in deeper, faster, the heat coiling in his center drawing out more of his strength. Tony didn’t seem to mind, panting wetly against Steve’s cheek as Steve grew rougher.

Steve thrust in deep, palm steady on Tony’s stomach as he cried out and squeezed tight around Steve’s cock. Wet warmth spread between them as his cock spilled over the back of Steve’s hand. Reaching down, Steve stroked Tony’s cock in time with his thrusts, working out more of his release as Tony shuddered and moaned. In no time at all, Steve was burying himself inside and pumping him full.

Groaning, Steve took Tony’s tongue as his cock pulsed wetly inside. Tony smiled into the kiss, nipping at Steve’s lips and rocking his hips down lazily. When they pulled apart, his eyes were soft as he carded his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I love you.”

Warming, a smile spread across Steve’s face. “I love you, too.”

He pulled out carefully, sliding behind Tony’s back and pulling Tony into his arms. Their breathing quieted as Steve softly pet his stomach. “I didn’t hurt you?” Tony shook his head, his eyes closed. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Tony insisted. “You were perfect.”

Steve traced the edge of the healing scar on Tony’s shoulder. “I never thought I’d get to have this.”

“Neither did I.” He took Steve’s hands and intertwined their fingers, kissing Steve’s palm. “I thought it impossible that you would ever want this from me.”

Steve kissed his shoulder as Tony continued on, “You’re the best person I know. Even if I’d been born a woman, I could never hope to be half the person you deserve.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” He kissed the nape of his neck. “I love you just the way you are.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, his breathing evening out. For a moment, Steve thought he’d fallen asleep. Then, “My weapons are still out there, Steve. I have to destroy them. I won’t rest until I do.”

“I know.” He dropped a kiss behind Tony’s ear. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

+

The next morning, it took every bit of Steve’s strength to force himself out of bed.

Tony was snoring softly, wrapped in the blankets as he rolled into the warmth Steve left behind. So peaceful as he slept, safe and sound where he belonged. Steve dropped a kiss to his forehead before getting ready to make his rounds.

The sun shone brighter, the air cleaner, the bird songs sweeter. Everything was perfect.

Or so he thought.

He’d just arrived in the square when he heard a scream. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he scanned the area. Finding nothing, he rushed towards the sound, nearly running into Longbow. Barton stared at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.

The scream sounded again and Steve’s head swam in response.

His mind reeled through memories of a different time, a different _era_ , giant green monsters, overly large men and tiny women. Horseless chariots racing across roads, powerful green women and people he recognized in strange garments. A giant house where he used to live, a spot on the wall for a shield that he never parted with. And Tony – Tony in some sort of armor made of red and gold. Smiling at Steve, laughing, admiring Steve before they raced into battle together.

No, it was this world – _Steve’s world_ that was wrong. This wasn’t his life.

He stumbled, shaking his head as the sunlight burned his eyes. He pushed Clint against a nearby wall, his voice urgent. “ _Remember_.”

+

After the Avengers defeated Morgan Le Fay, they returned to the mansion. Carol took Wanda to get checked out, despite her protests. The others returned to their rooms and Steve followed Tony up to his room.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked, sitting on the bed as he massaged his neck. His hair was shorter now. Steve found he almost missed the way it had looked before.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

It was strange adjusting to things like air conditioning and electricity again. He knew they’d only been under the influence of the spell for a matter of days, but it felt like an eternity. An entire lifetime where he’d been Sir Steven Rogers, knight of Camelot. Vowing to spend the rest of his life by Tony’s side.

Now, they were back here and Steve didn’t know what to say to him. “That must’ve been a dream come true for you, huh?” he asked with a small smile.

“Not quite,” Tony replied and Steve stiffened in response. He watched concernedly as Tony climbed to his feet and came closer to Steve’s place by the wall. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“For what?”

“For what happened to you there. For making you train me and for what happened after,” he rasped, his eyes bright. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Steve’s chest tightened as he reached out to take Tony’s hand. “I’m sorry for what I did.” Even now, it was hard to believe Tony wasn’t still the same man that used to hide out on the practice field to watch him train. The man that had begged Steve to teach him everything he knew. He laughed softly as he studied their hands. “You were my biggest fan.”

Tony smiled. “I always have been.”

Steve looked to him, warming at the sincerity he found there. Tony squeezed his hand, leaning in closer.

Their first kiss, many years in the making.  


End file.
